


What My Lover Is/Is Not

by purkledragon



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purkledragon/pseuds/purkledragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A musing upon one's love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What My Lover Is/Is Not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [demonwing](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=demonwing).



> Age is relate to my thinking, Mokuba is usually whatever age I want him to be. This is your potential shota warning, but only if you think it is.

My lover's lips are not covered in the taste of chocolate or candy or any such sweet--they taste of nothing in particular that I can tell and yet they are the only ones I want anywhere near my own. Nor do I want to hear anything but the sweet sounds he moans as I press into his body, from anyone but himself. No others lips do I wish to see than his like this--parted slightly, soft pants of exasperation coming through as I tease and taunt him mercilessly. I only desire to feel the soft touch of his lips as I press my own to them to silence his cries of passion.

My lover's eyes are not made of sapphires, Prussian dyes or any such nonsense--they are just eyes, flesh and blood the same as my own. However, I prefer the way they look at me, warming my soul from the love that shows through them. He never looks at anyone else the way he does me, which is a very good thing. I'd hate to find out what I would do if I ever saw him looking at another. I lose myself completely when he looks at me, drowning in the depth of emotion that almost always overwhelms all reason within my head. How a simple glance from him sets my soul on fire, I shall never understand; I only know he just has to quickly dart his eyes toward me and I know it even across a crowded room.

My lover's hands are not made of silk, and yet the way they slide across my body in the middle of the night, or day, I could swear I was being caressed by the finest fabric available to man. The way his hands make my entire body feel. The simplest of touches against my shoulder as he passes by, more dangerous still across my ass in a room full of people who know of us but don't know about us, or a caress upon my cheek drawing me out of my work when he feels I've been at it for too long--all send me into an automated response that as long as we're alone only takes as long as we want it to, to satisfy.

My lover's body is not perfection--no one's is however in my eyes there is no one better. I know every inch of skin upon that body, and the way my lover quivers under my touch as my hands dance along his firm flesh. The way his body glistens during our nightly escapades into such delicious decadence delights me to no end. I worship his body as I do no other, taking precious time to make sure he thoroughly enjoys every moment. My hands map out his muscled form arms, chest, stomach, and legs I leave nothing untouched before I reach my desired destination, the tangled mass of dark curls that nestle one of his most beautiful parts. I slide hands and mouth around his erect cock lustfully. His body is tense and shudders in waves as we fall into sync, his hips moving more forcefully as he fucks my mouth as I plunge down to take him in further until he explodes.

There is no other I would willingly and openly take night after night into my bed. There is no one more deserving of my attention in this world, no one else that has ever shown me the same kind of devotion. I see in him everything I've ever wanted, everything I've achieved to be in this life. He is my perfection--so beautiful as he loses control of his body under my skilled touch. So delightful to have beneath me, willing to open those wonderful legs to let me slip between them purring the entire time like a slut in heat. No one else has ever seen this side of him--no one ever will. He's mine.

His body and mine fit together like puzzle pieces and with ease I slide my cock along his well-lubed ass before interlocking our pieces burying myself deep within him. I love the look his face still gets every time we fuck--one of the reason I have mirrors everywhere in this room, I want to see his face no matter how I take him. But honestly, I prefer taking him like this face to face so I can see the one who acts as whore for me alone--such a pretty whore he is too. Of course if anyone else were to say that there'd be a fight over which of us got to kill them first. I told you he's mine to do with as  
I please, because he pleases me and that pleases him to no end as well.

I have to move his bangs out of the way to watch his eyes, to gaze upon his face lit in a way only I get to see and it makes me want to cry sometimes. No one else gets to see the life that shines through him as it only comes out while I'm pounding into his ass making him beg me for complete oblivion. I am only more than happy to send him there as I try to force myself further into him wanting to fuse us together forever while my hand wraps around his now reawakened cock. As my gut tightens, the world explodes around me shattering everything into nothingness and I hear his cry join mine breaking the  
silence within the room.

We lay in silence once more and drift off to sleep, our bodies pressed together again this time in a small embrace. I feel his breathing shallow before I can sleep myself wanting to make sure he is truly happy before I can allow myself this one small thing. This is my lover and yet I awaken in the middle of the night unsure of the truth of our love and this becomes his finest hour. When the night becomes too much for me he is there with lips to cover mine, eyes to see the fear for what it truly is, hands that caress my trembling form and body to willingly accept mine. As I awaken gasping, sweat drenched--

"Mokuba?"

"Yes?"

"Go back to sleep. Or get over here and fuck me again."

How can I not love him? He seems to think he's in charge, as if he would have a say when, and if, I decide to fuck his sweet ass--he makes me laugh. Maybe just this once I'll let him think so, but next time he'll have to be taught a lesson. "Yes, Niisama."


End file.
